


Chaos

by moonside



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Experimentation, M/M, MT!Prompto, Omen!Noctis, Promptis - Freeform, Telepathy, vaguely soulmate-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: “Hi,” the other kid says, his voice a low whisper, “… I’m in solitary. You aren’t supposed to be here. If they catch you…”Right on cue, a soldier, heavily armored, steps over, and peers into the tiny, barred cell, glancing around. “Talking to yourself, three-two-three-four?”The kid, three-two-three-four, ducks his head down, quickly.“They can’t see me,” Noctis says, realization dawning, as the guard, satisfied that there aren’t any intruders, strides away. “… and they can’t hear me. This is weird.”





	Chaos

Sometimes, when Noctis closes his eyes, he’ll open them and realize he’s somewhere else entirely.

 

The first time it happens, it scares the shit out of him. He’s just a kid, and he’d had a horrific accident. He can’t walk, stuck in a hospital bed, and that’s what clues him in that things are weird. One minute, he’s lying in bed, angry at the world, angry at himself, feeling so inadequate.

 

He rolls over to try and sleep again, in a haze of drug-induced hysteria, and the next minute, he’s _elsewhere._

 

It’s not entirely different. It’s the same sterile environment. It smells like medicine and chemicals. But Noctis is _standing up,_ and nothing hurts.

 

There’s a group of kids in a classroom, and there’s a glass wall with a few people in white coats with clipboards. Noctis frowns, because instinctively, he knows he wants nothing to do with those adults. They look cold, cruel, somehow, _different._

 

Nobody can see him, either, except for one kid. He’s a bit chubbier than the other kids, though they’ve all got strikingly similar features, and he’s got flat blonde hair and freckles and blue-red eyes. He’s got a codemark on his wrist, and suddenly, he turns his head, and their eyes meet, and Noctis feels a _jolt._

Suddenly, Noct’s back in his bed, and he’s covered in a cold sweat. He frowns, and he bites his lip, and he thinks, _was it just a dream?_

\---

 

The next time it happens, the blonde kid shows up at his bedside. Noct’s alone, and he gasps, when suddenly he’s _not._

 

“Hello,” he says, when he recognizes the strange blonde boy. It’s a peculiar situation. If he wasn’t a child, he might have screamed, or thought he was going insane, or _something._ But he’s young, and he’s lonely, and somehow, this kid being _here_ is slightly easier than Noctis being elsewhere.

 

“… hi,” the other says, slowly, halting, as if nobody’s ever talked to him like that before.

 

“You’re the kid from before,” Noctis replies. He pats the edge of the bed, when the blonde boy stands awkwardly, one arm crossed over the other. The mark on his wrist stands out bright.

 

There’s a moment of hesitance, and then the boy slowly steps forward, taking awkward steps, as if he’s not used to making his own decisions, as if he’s… well, as if he’s somewhere where he isn’t _really._ Noct can’t blame him for being confused. He has no idea what’s going on.

 

“What’s your name?” Noctis says, quietly, as the other boy sits, gingerly, on the edge of the bed.

 

“Don’t have one,” the kid replies. “Don’t need one. I have a number though. Want to know it?”

 

“A number?” Noctis frowns.

 

The boy recites it, but Noctis has no mind for numbers, and he can’t remember it.

 

“That’s silly,” Noctis says, “… you need a name. What can I call you?”

 

The boy shrugs. “Isn’t important. Where am I?”

 

“Hospital in Tenebrae,” Noctis replies. “I can’t walk. Daemon attack.”

 

For some reason, that upsets the boy, and he looks away, abruptly, though Noctis doesn’t quite miss the way his eyes shift from blue to red, swirling, like water mixing with blood and tinting everything crimson. “Daemons…”

 

Noctis shrugs. He fiddles with the edge of the blanket tucked over his lap. “You were in a hospital too, right?”

 

“Facility,” the boy says, dully, as if he’s reciting back a response that’s been drilled into him, “it’s where I live.”

 

Noctis frowns. “You don’t have a home?”

 

The boy doesn’t answer. Noctis wishes, in that moment, that he could get up, that he could curl his arms around the other boy’s shoulders. “… well, y’know, if you ever get out of that place, you can come live with me. I live in a big citadel in Insomnia… if I ever get to go home.”

 

“Insomnia?” the boy blinks, and his eyes are swirling again. Noctis realizes, he’s absolutely fascinated by those eyes. “… I’m not supposed to like people from Insomnia.”

 

Noctis tips his head to the side. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to randomly show up in my hospital room, either.”

 

The boy manages a little smile there, and it’s contagious, and then they’re both smiling at each other. It’s their little secret, their smiles say. Then, just as quickly as he appeared, the blonde kid is gone, but Noctis has a feeling he’ll see him again.

 

\---

 

There’s an attack on Tenebrae, and Noctis is rushed back to Insomnia, still wheelchair bound, but he’s starting to get better. He’s got to struggle through physical therapy though, and it _hurts._

 

He’s crying, one night, in bed. He’d taken two steps today, and it’d been the worst two steps of his life. There’s still rough, red scars that line his back in thick stripes, and his dad says they’ll fade, with time, but for now, Noctis hates them.

 

He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be _anywhere_ else, he wants to _walk,_ and that’s when he blinks, and he realizes he’s in a tiny dark cell. It takes a while for Noct’s eyes a moment to adjust, but he’s aware he isn’t alone.

 

The kid looks a little bit older, but so does Noctis. His face is a bit heavier lined, and it looks like he’s dropped a bit of the awkward weight.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says, when recognition flutters through him. It’s that kid again. “Been a while, stranger.”

 

“Hi,” the other kid says, his voice a low whisper, “… I’m in solitary. You aren’t supposed to be here. If they catch you…”

 

Right on cue, a soldier, heavily armored, steps over, and peers into the tiny, barred cell, glancing around. “Talking to yourself, three-two-three-four?”

 

The kid, three-two-three-four, ducks his head down, quickly.

 

“They can’t see me,” Noctis says, realization dawning, as the guard, satisfied that there aren’t any intruders, strides away. “… and they can’t hear me. This is _weird.”_

 

The other boy nods, slowly, and he glances at Noctis, through the dim light. “Your injuries. Are they better?”

 

Noctis frowns, and shakes his head. “A little. But Tenebrae got attacked, and I’m home now…”

 

“I know about the attack,” the boy says, quietly, and he turns his head away, and he won’t look at Noctis. “.. I’m glad you made it out, though.”

 

Noctis wants to say more, but then, suddenly, he’s back in his bed, and he’s _confused._ Who is this nameless kid, and why is he in a tiny cell, being guarded by a grown soldier? What is going _on?_ His head hurts, and his heart hurts even more, and somehow, Noctis has a feeling he can never tell anyone about this. They’d all think he’s insane.

 

\---

 

Noctis is finally walking again. He’ll always favor one side, and he’ll always have lingering pain issues, maybe some chronic fatigue, but he’s well enough to start training with his future shield. Some aspects of life have gotten really hard. His time in the wheelchair only made him feel even _more_ isolated, and the kids at school stare even more. He’s determined to make up for lost time, but it’s really like starting out all over again. Even with the magic of kings helping him, he’s sluggish and slow in battle, and Gladiolus kicks his ass on a daily basis.

 

And, it’s worse, because Noctis has a friend, and he can’t tell anyone about his friend, ever.

 

Sometimes, he ends up in that strange place. Most times, though, Prompto ends up in his bedroom in the citadel, or when Noctis is alone and eating lunch at school.

 

“Why do you always come to me?” Noctis asks, one day, glancing at his friend. Thirty four, as he’s taken to calling him, ducks his head down. The other boy is weird, and even though they’re both growing, and Noctis is _trying_ to grow into his role, his friend becomes more aloof, _colder,_ and his eyes aren’t quite so blue anymore. His features are hardening, and he’s lost most of the weight.

 

The blonde shrugs. “… escapism. I don’t really like being here.”

 

“Then why don’t you leave?” Noctis says, quietly.

 

“Can’t,” thirty four shrugs. “You know that. Where would I go? This is where I belong.”

 

Noctis reaches out, and their fingers touch. It’s the first time they’ve ever touched, and for a moment, he thinks the other is going to recoil and disappear, but he doesn’t. He simply tips his head to the side, and their eyes meet.

 

“Tell me everything you know about where you are,” Noctis insists, “my dad is the king, he’ll come get you, I _promise,_ you’re my _best friend—“_

 

Noctis realizes, as the words come out, that this other boy is his _only_ friend, and his best one, and he realizes, fiercely, that he wants to protect the other.

 

“Your king can’t save me,” the blonde says, dully, and it sounds like he’s reciting again, “I’m born to be a soldier. I’m supposed to obey orders, and if they don’t, if they _catch_ me talking to you, I’ll be destroyed.”

 

“Destroyed?” Noctis frowns, and he squeezes the other’s hand. “… I won’t let that happen.”

 

\---

 

One day when Noctis visits, he doesn’t recognize his friend at first. He’s wearing heavy armor, a thick metal plate covering his face entirely, except for the pinprick of red eyes. He’s in a line of others, all of them dressed identically, all of them… _faceless._

 

For a moment, a long, horrible moment, Noctis is _terrified._

 

“Magitek Unit 05953234,” a man is saying, and Noctis recognizes that number as his friend’s.

 

The other lifts his eyes, and _sees_ Noct, and for a moment, there’s a rough swirl of blue in the other’s eyes, and his step falters, just for a moment, and there’s a frown.

 

“Defective,” the man says, “take him away. We’ll need to reassess.”

 

Noctis feels a rough, heavy jolt of fear as they drag his friend away again. He follows, and he wants to stay, but they shove him on a table, strap him down, and start scribbling away on a notepad and adjusting dials and grabbing needles, and then the world goes black, and he’s back at home, in his own bed, and he’s terrified.

 

Noctis stays up all night, waiting for the connection to disappear. He doesn’t even know if it _will_ disappear. He just knows that if he never sees his friend again, he’ll be heartbroken.

 

At some point, though, the blankets shift, and the bed settles under a new weight, and when Noctis opens his eyes, he’s met with blue ones. There’s no red, for once, and he smiles.

 

“You’re not dead?”

 

“Naw. Still alive,” the other boy replies, though he lifts an arm, and there’s bruises and lines from where he’s been poked and prodded by needles. The codemark on his wrist is dark and swollen. The other boy doesn’t ever talk much. He doesn’t talk about _who_ he is, or what, but tonight, apparently, is a bit different.

 

“… I’m valuable. I was one of the originals, and… I’ve got more free will than they want me to. They’re worried the others will be _like me._ They wanna stamp it out, but… I dunno. I don’t think they’ll kill me.” He shrugs. “… I don’t know why I’m different from the other ones.”

 

Noctis reaches, and he wraps an arm around the other’s waist. He’s skinny, muscular, because by now, Noct’s figured out that he’s some sort of a _soldier,_ but… thin. Cold, always. “Maybe it’s because we’re friends. I… don’t know how this happens. I don’t know why you keep coming to me. Maybe I’m supposed to save you.”

 

“I keep telling you. You can’t save me,” the other boy says, “… I don’t have a name, and after all these years, I still don’t even know yours.”

 

Noctis blinks.

 

“Noctis,” he says, “my name is Noctis.”

 

Then, Noctis adds, “and I hate that you don’t have a name. There’s nothing that they call you, other than the number?”

 

The blonde shakes his head. His eyes are so beautiful and blue like this, and Noctis wants to hold him close. He wishes he could bring him here, for good, that they could do away with that strange facility, with the men in the jackets that drag his friend away. “Noctis. You’re Prince Noctis, of Lucis.”

 

“Duh,” Noctis says, with a quiet laugh.

 

“They can never find out,” the blonde replies, dully, “they’d use me to kill you. They want to destroy Lucis, you know.”

 

“You’re a Niff?” Noctis says, suddenly, eyes widening with comprehension. Yet, still, he doesn’t draw away.

 

“Duh,” the blonde echoes back, with a sad smile. “And that, right there, is how our friendship ends, pronto, right?”

 

“Nah,” Noctis says. “we just have to make sure they never find out, pronto.”

 

“Promptly pronto,” the boy replies, but they both smile, and there’s some shared, nervous giggling.

 

“I’m going to call you that,” Noctis says, suddenly, “Prompto.”

 

“That’s dumb,” the blonde says, but he leans in a little closer, and he curls an arm around Noct’s warmer waist, slow and tentative. “… I’ve never had a name before. I like it.”

 

\---

 

Ignis is the one to point out that Noctis is withdrawing. He’s pulling away.

 

Noctis argues that his whole life is training. He goes to school. After school, most days, he has combat training. On days he isn’t doing that, he’s with Ignis, studying politics and geography and battle tactics, and whatever the hell else a future king needs to know. His time with his dad is spent learning about the magic, the lines of Lucis, the crystal.

 

Noct’s dad is getting older and sicker, before his time, and Noctis just wants to _do nothing._

 

“Dad,” he says, one day. He’s sixteen. He’s going to be leading, sooner, rather than later, and the weight is starting to bear down heavily on his shoulders. “… what do you know about the Magitek program?”

 

Noct’s father’s doesn’t miss a beat, as they’re descending the stairs to the antechamber where the crystal is stored, but Noctis knows his dad better than that. He doesn’t miss the slight crease of his dad’s face, or the way his lips quirk. “You’re a bit young to be learning about the inner workings of the Imperial army, Noctis.”

 

“I’m going to be the one _fighting_ that army someday, dad,” Noctis replies, and he tries to sound casual.

 

“I told Ignis not to teach you those things. You aren’t ready,” his father insists, absolutely avoiding the question.

 

“I’m _ready,”_ Noctis says, and he’s well aware there’s a _rage_ building in him. He’s never been angry like this before, never—

 

“They’re experimenting on kids. Kids, did you know that?!”

 

The words aren’t entirely Noctis’s, and suddenly, his friend is standing beside him, and it’s his friend saying them, but they’re coming out of Noct’s mouth, and it’s _weird,_ it’s so fucking weird—

 

His father frowns. “Noctis, this is _war._ You think I want this happening? They’re our enemies for a reason.”

 

“Shut it down, dad. Send the glaives in, I can find out where their facilities are, I can—“

 

“And leave Insomnia open? I don’t know what you expect me to _do,_ Noctis, we can’t undo Imperial brainwashing. It’d leave us with a bunch of genetically engineered _children_ who are programmed to destroy us,” his father sighs, heavily, and shakes his head. “… Noctis, I don’t know who told you this, but it’s just part of war. It’s horrible, and it’s cruel, but _those_ are the people we’re up against.”

 

His father continues down the steps, and Noctis pauses, looking at his friend, _Prompto,_ his friend, who isn’t just a disposable, brainwashed child. He’s a person, with feelings.

 

“Sorry,” Noctis mouths, under his breath, and hurries back down. His friend shrugs.

 

\---

 

“Do you ever like…?” Noctis says, quietly, when Prompto visits him one night. It’s awkward, and he’s flushing a little.

 

Sometimes, Noctis feels like Prompto is pulling away from him. His friend is downtrodden. He’s defeated, sometimes, with dark bruises and bloodied lips, and Noctis knows that they’ve started beating the will out of him.

 

Other times, it’s almost worse, because Prompto’s eyes go solid red, and he’s rigid, and nonresponsive, and Noctis knows he’s going to lose him, sooner or later, to whatever the hell they’re subjecting him to. He’s losing the battle. Noctis is terrified to lose his friend, but at the same time, maybe it’s better.  Maybe the fight isn’t worth it. It’s not like he can _do_ anything to free him.

 

“Do I ever what?” Prompto asks, quietly. Today is one of those days where he’s _almost_ like himself again. Almost.

 

Noctis flushes. “I’m supposed to get married. My dad told me today. I’m gonna marry the oracle, Lunafreya. It’s gonna be for peace between the nations…” he pauses, carefully, biting his lip. “… what do you think will happen to you? If the war stops?”

 

Prompto shrugs. “The war isn’t going to stop.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Noctis insists, “my dad says so.”

 

“Your dad doesn’t know everything,” Prompto shrugs, “I’m a Niff. It’s been beaten into me. They’re not going to let peace happen.”

 

“I miss you,” Noctis says, instead of responding. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and Prompto’s sitting on the floor, up against a wall. “… you used to visit me a lot more.”

 

Prompto shrugs, and he looks down. “… I forget who I am, a lot of the time. It’s not your fault. I think, if it weren’t for you, I would’ve lost it a long time ago.”

 

Noctis sighs. “I try to visit. But… things there are…”

 

“I know. I live it. You don’t have to apologize,” Prompto shrugs, and when he lifts his head, he looks _exhausted,_ defeated. The blue eyes are somehow dimmer, paler, and Noctis has a feeling that soon, he’ll be out of his reach. “I’m a killer, Noctis. I’m not a friend.”

 

Noctis shrugs. “I’m a killer, too. That’s… all kings are. I either decide something, and people die, or I decide _not_ to do something, and people still die.”

 

Noctis stands up, back popping and cracking as he stretches, and he sits down next to Prompto. There’s a couple of inches of distance between them. Slowly, Prompto reaches out a hand, and brushes it over Noct’s. Noctis winces, when he realizes one of Prompto’s fingers – not on his dominant hand, at least – is bent at a harsh angle. It’s broken.

 

“… whatever happens, Noctis, I’m glad that I knew you. It… made hell a little better,” Prompto admits, with a soft smile.

 

Noctis loves that smile, and he doesn’t even realize it, until he’s leaning in, and pressing a swift, gentle kiss to one of those freckled cheeks. Prompto makes a quiet sound, and then he’s gone, and Noctis has a feeling he’ll never see him again, ever.

 

\---

 

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Noct’s father asks, for what seems like the hundredth time, “you should take Gladio and Ignis with you.”

 

“No,” Noctis says, “I’ll be fine, dad. I’ve been alone for years now.”

 

His father sighs heavily. There’s a peace treaty in the city, and his father wants him out before it begins. He’s got to meet up with Luna, and this whole wedding thing, and… Noctis is exhausted, really. He hasn’t seen Prompto since that last meeting, and that was a few months ago.

 

They’ve _never_ gone months, not since their early meetings. Sometimes, Noctis can feel Prompto in the back of his mind, though. Sometimes, he’s _certain_ that he’s there, just… unreachable. He tried to visit, once or twice, but it’s always unstable, and he doesn’t last more than a minute before he’s hurtling back to his own reality.

“Take the Regalia, then,” his father frowns, “and be careful, Noctis, for god’s sake, if anything happens, _please_ call Ignis and Gladio. I’ll send them off as well, so they’re never far.”

 

Noctis wants to say he doesn’t need a babysitter, but it’s the best he’s going to get.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he insists, “nothing will go wrong.”

 

\---

 

Everything is fine, for a while. The countryside rushes by. Noctis was supposed to go down to Galdin, to take a boat, but he knows that’s the way his dad will send Ignis and Gladio, and so he opts to keep going west, through Liede and into Duscae. There’s other ways. Being out of the city is absolutely _refreshing._ He feels trapped, back home.

 

And, well, secretly, Noctis is still so goddamn torn.

 

He doesn’t want to marry Luna. She’s his friend, from his time in Tenebrae, but… well. His dad claims it’s going to end the war, but Prompto’s silence, and his words, it has Noct’s head spinning. He doesn’t know if he believes it.

 

He’s driving through a field when he _swears_ he sees a flash of blonde in front of him. Frantic, Noctis slams the brakes, and the car comes skidding to a halt. He’s lucky he’s alone on the road, because he would’ve caused an accident, with the way his car swerves and skids and jolts.

 

When Noctis looks up, there’s nobody. But he _feels_ Prompto, and when he tips his head to the side, he frowns. His friend is sitting in the car, and there’s blood on his face, and a strange look in his eyes.

 

“I killed a lot of people, Noctis,” Prompto says, and his voice is cool, and casual, and _strange._ It’s the voice of his friend, but it’s _different._ “… you’re the prince of Lucis. You’ve got magic. I’m supposed to kill you too, you know.”

 

“But you’re talking, instead of killing,” Noctis says, and he slowly starts the car up again. He’s lucky he didn’t crash. “… peace talks are tomorrow. Honestly, Prompto, I’m done with it. I’m done with _politics._ What the hell is all this for, if I can’t protect my own friend?”

 

“You know, the magic is a curse from the gods,” Prompto says. Noct’s fingers are gripping the wheel tight. “… part of the joys of being a rebel MT. I pick up on things that they say. I’m not supposed to know.”

 

“It feels more like a curse than anything,” Noctis agrees.

 

“The Niffs killed some of the gods,” Prompto replies, with a shrug. His voice is casual and icy, and Noct’s trying to keep his eyes on the road, but he occasionally side-glances, and Prompto’s eyes glow red. His lips are curved up into a casual smirk. It’s his friend, but it’s _not._

 

Noctis shrugs, “the Niffs started the war.”

 

“Maybe your precious crystal is dooming us all,” Prompto replies. “Maybe the daemons have the right idea. Ever considered that?”

 

Noctis hasn’t. “That’s fucking crazy, Prompto.”

 

“So is talking to a voice in your head,” Prompto shrugs, and then he’s gone, and Noct’s gripping the wheel so tight that when he jerks involuntarily, the cars swerves rough and heavy into the other lane. Someone coming the other way slams their brakes, and lays on the horn, but Noctis ignores them, swinging back to his side of the road, and continuing on.

 

Is Prompto right?

 

Is this all for nothing?

 

Noctis needs to get south, to Altissia. His mind is racing, though. If he keeps driving, and if he swings around, he can eventually end up in Niflheim. He can come for Prompto. The world fucking be damned, he can _save him._

 

And then Noctis says fuck it to the peace treaty, and the world, and he makes up his mind.

 

\---

 

He’s sleeping in a crappy motel, the Regalia parked in the back, where it won’t be recognized, when Noctis finally ends up on Prompto’s side of the world again.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says. He shivers. It’s cold and snowy in Niflheim.

 

Prompto frowns. He’s wearing his armor, but the faceplate is lifted. “I killed an entire group of Lucian scouts today, and you still come?”

 

Noctis shrugs. “If you want, I can brag right back about how many of you we’ve killed. Not gonna, though. Thought maybe you’re right. I’m done with this war. You wanna be, too?”

 

Prompto stares at him, with hard, red eyes. “… what do you have in mind?”

 

“You with me?” Noctis says, instead, avoiding the question.

 

Prompto shrugs. Then, slowly, he nods.

 

Noctis grins, and there’s a flash of magic, and suddenly Prompto’s _warping_ away, in a blur of blue light. There’s a bit of yelling of a superior officer, but they can’t catch him, as he takes off, running, leaping through the air. The snow comes down too thick and heavy for aerial support, this far north, and the heavy armor means they can’t quite keep up with him.

 

“How?” Prompto tries to ask, as Noctis laughs.

 

“I’m heading west,” Noctis says, instead, “meet me there. We’re going to end this.”

 

\---

 

Noctis is cornered. They’ve locked his weapons, with some fucking godawful technology he doesn’t understand. He’s surrounded by MT troopers, and it just _isn’t_ fair. There’s a place in his mind, one that comes to him in a dream, and he’s going to meet Prompto there. Whatever happens next, Noct isn’t sure of, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that the gods aren’t doing them any fucking favours. His magic is a curse, a lifedrain, and there’s _wars_ over it. The wars aren’t going to end, not until the crystal is gone, and _how_ couldn’t his father see it?!  


It doesn’t matter though. He’s cornered. His clothes are tattered from the fighting, and he’s covered in blood that is a mix of his own, and others. There’s black viscera everywhere, too, and the shriek of a dying MT is ringing in Noct’s ears. It sounds like a _daemon,_ but it’s oddly human too, and really, are the two so different anymore? He’s ducked behind an old piece of machinery, scaled a wall, but it’s only a matter of time until they find him, and he’s got no weapons.

 

“Hey,” Prompto’s voice is suddenly there, in Noct’s ear, “I’m one hell of a shoot. Let me clear you a path.”

 

It’s Noct’s hands on the sniper rifle, but it’s _not_ him. It’s weird. Prompto’s true to his word, though, and his aim is steady, cold and calculating. Noctis doesn’t know where the weapon comes from, but he’s somehow linked his magic to Prompto, and _maybe_ he’s drawing from there, he doesn’t really know.

 

His car’s gone, but Prompto knows how to rig one of the Imperial’s, and Noctis hotwires it and he’s on his way. In the distance, when he’s safely out of the town they’ve taken over, an otherwise safe haven, Noctis hears the alarm sound.

 

“Gotta ditch the car and find a different one,” Prompto says, in the passenger’s seat, lazily. “I’m coming for you. Stay alive, will ya, Prince of Lucis?”

 

“Don’t think I’m the prince anymore,” Noctis responds. “Just Noct.”

 

“Just Noct, then,” Prompto replies. “Ya know, I never liked being a number. Sure am glad I let you give me a dumbass name instead.”

 

Noctis laughs, just a little, and Prompto’s eyes are still _cold,_ but there’s a hint of blue to them again. Just a hint, and then it’s gone, and they’re red again. “You’re the soldier, here. What’s the game plan?”

 

Prompto shrugs. “You’re the one with all the royal training. Figured I’d get us together and you’d take over from there. What the _hell_ do you wanna accomplish, anyway?”  


Noct’s nerves are soaring, as he accelerates steadily, trying to get as fucking far away from the chaos behind him as he possibly can. A few more days, maybe, that’s all they need to survive, and then they’ll be _together._

 

“The gods created the crystal,” Noctis says, quietly, “they _want_ us to fight, I think.”

 

“So let’s just kill a few gods,” Prompto shrugs. “Can’t be so hard, right?”

 

Noctis tips his head to look at Prompto, briefly, before he goes back to the road. There’s an outpost a few miles down the road, and he’s going to pull over there, gonna steal another car, and then he’ll be back on his way, the Niff army swift at his heels. But, for once, Noctis thinks maybe they can pull this off.

 

“You’re fucking crazy, you know,” Noct says to Prompto. If Noctis could see himself, he’d see that his own eyes are lined with swirls of amber. Amber and red, they go well together. It’s a strange type of beauty.

 

“Thanks for the compliment,” Prompto replies with a swift, cold smile, “you too, partner.”

 

\---

Maybe Noctis didn’t think any of this would be real.

 

Prompto gets there first, and Noctis doesn’t think that this is _possible._ He’s always been a little bit convinced that he’s going insane. But when the scenery changes, when the lush greenery slowly dies, until it’s all old, charred wood and blackened earth, Noctis starts to realize that he’s been here before. He’s been here, even though he hasn’t, because Prompto’s here.

 

The tree is old and gnarled. Its branches reach up to the sky, stark black on grey clouds.

 

And at its foot, sitting on a twisted, heavy root, is an exhausted looking blonde man.

 

Noctis pulls off the bumpy old road, and kills the brakes. The car’s barely come to a halt when he jumps out, and he’s rushing forward, to this old, ancient tree, something that looks like it belongs in the pages of a horror novel, rather than right here.

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, and Noctis swears, he hears it double- once echoed in his head, and once in reality, _in person._ Holy shit, it’s weird.

 

“Hey yourself,” Noct says, even as he’s reaching down, as he’s tugging Prompto into his arms. The blonde is still cold to the touch, but he’s _slightly_ warmer in person. His eyes are blue, and they’re cold, and piercing, and Noctis can’t believe it, he wants to touch every freckle, he wants to run his fingers over every inch of Prompto. He’s _here,_ in the flesh.

 

Prompto has guns hanging from the holster wrapped around his waist. He’s got a couple tucked into his boots, too, for good measure. There’s still blood on his black, leather shirt. He’s ditched the MT armor, and it’s a good look. Noct’s shirt is hanging off him still, slashed and tattered from his battle. His magic’s rushing strong though, given back to him as soon as he was out of range.

 

“So, we finally meet, huh?” Noctis says, with a quiet laugh, and he sits down heavily next to Prompto. “Shit. This is weird.”

 

Prompto’s smile is frosty, but there’s a bit of warmth around the edges, and Noctis gets the distinct feeling that it’s a smile that’s reserved solely for _him._ They’ve been friends for a long time, after all. Nobody else would want to be friends with the creatures they are, the creatures they’ve become, but they’ve shaped each other, in a way.

 

“So, buddy, you ready to wreak some chaos?” Prompto asks, after a moment’s silence, and then he leans in, his lips brushing over Noct’s cheek, tongue lapping out at a speck of blood that’s spattered there.

 

Noctis shudders deeply. “Hell yes I am, Prompto,” and he takes his first descending steps into hell.

**Author's Note:**

> i really debated whether i wanted to post this on ao3 or if it'd just stay as one of my tumblr messes. it's VERY similar to a multi-chapter WIP I'm currently writing, and holding off on posting. I wrote this for Promptisweek, though, for the trope prompt, because omen!Noct is my favourite, and I've been looking for a reason to write a darker version of Prom for ages. I don't get behind MT!Prom too much, honestly, but I wanted to make it work, with the inner turmoil where his loyalties for Noctis win out, but they're both kinda twisted from it. 
> 
> I decided, ultimately, that i really like this, so i figured i'd post it here. <3
> 
> will i extend this universe? debatable, but i'm fucking IN LOVE with this version of prompto, holy shit, he's fantastic, and so who knows.


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